


Remember To Smile

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Category: The Jester (MakeDo)
Genre: Creampie, F/M, Knife Play, Light Dom/sub, Magic Tricks, Mask, Toys, counter top sex, ethereal orgasms, parlor tricks that lead to bone town, phantom vibrators, slightly demonic vibes, that noise, the mask stays on, what the fuck is in his sleeves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 08:26:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15215096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Anon asked: omg if you feel like and have inspiration for it you should write a jester/reader oneshot. that short was so good...Summary: Outside a novelty sex shop, you meet the embodiment of Halloween. A few tricks lead to some theft of property that then leads to breaking and entering and then you're wondering where the vibrator came from... also, you might be in love.A/N: This is one of those WTF fics where I'm pretty sure no one knows who The Jester is. I'm gonna leave a link to his horror short in the ending notes. Thanks to the Anon for the ask! I loved writing this alongside my buddy Darth Fucamus.





	Remember To Smile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Joke's On You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15215201) by [DarthFucamus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthFucamus/pseuds/DarthFucamus). 



‘Come on, dude. It’s Halloween night at 11. Downtown Historic District. Center square, across from the novelty sex shop. That one with the ‘beaver trapping’ sign in the window. Where are you??? Been waiting 20min.’ 

What a mouthful of a text, you think, staring at your phone. On the emptiest street in Parker, is where you find yourself with two-percent battery life and a friend who was supposed to pick you up twenty minutes ago, still typing her response several minutes after your last text. A phone call would have wasted less juice. 

October air - spiced with apple cider and asphalt - blows frizzy hair around your cheeks. The thick eye makeup makes your eyes water as you chew your inner cheek.

A bell or chain rattles close by.

Fresh billows of air - this time tinged with the smell of boot shine - makes you look up from the dim glow of your phone; lashes dark and clogged with moisture. Vision a haze. 

Chilling shock locks your vertebrae, joints, and lungs. 

You freeze under the lowered gaze of pitless, black eyes and grinning teeth cut into a painfully upturned smile. For a second you think of real horrors hiding and waiting under childhood bed sheets, then you blink away makeup-irritated tears, and blow out a relieved laugh at the costumed man beside you. 

Carefully, you take a short step back and plaster on a polite smile while the tall, lanky man in an orange and black three-piece suit stares down at you. 

The creepy clown-like mask on his face cocks to the side. It’s the best costume you’ve seen in years, and probably the most well thought out one you’ll see tonight. 

With a gap-toothed smile, you nod at his getup, “I say… ‘holy bananas,’ dude. You look awesome.“

He tips his masked-face as if to say ‘uh-huh’ before he sweeps the top hat off his blond locks, and gives you a flourishing bow; leg bent behind him and toe poised on the sidewalk concrete. He peers upwards at you, enough that the crooked white nose on his mask dents the curled grin. 

Those eyes… 

...for a second you wonder where his real eyes are before he straightens with extravagant airs.

He lays the hat back over his head. For a second you think his grin stretches, but that’s impossible… just a trick of the warm lamplight above. Something is unsettling about him though, and yet you don’t walk off. No words of polite disregard while he jumps a hooked cane in a gloved fist. 

“It’s uh,” you mumble before gathering your wits, “-it’s nice to meet you too. Are you supposed to be a… scary clown?”

There’s frozen silence - poised plastic terror - in response. You swallow and itch the edge of your phone in a nervous habit. 

“A Joker?” 

He gives a sweeping shake of the head. The mask glares black with painted anger.

“... a Jester?”

He nods vigorously.

The Jester leans an elbow against the street lamp, bending dingy knuckles against a naked ear. You swear you can hear metal chirping as he moves with enthused animation. 

“So,” you lick your lips and think up adequate small talk, “what’re you doing out so late? A friend stand you up too?”

He slips his shoulder into the pole, crossing his arms until the worn, stained jacket wrinkles around the lengthy bulk of his forearms - the gesture revealing tawny skin between sleeve cuffs and buttoned gloves. 

It’d be easy to think he’s some All Hallow’s Eve spirit. 

“Umm,” his silence is troubling. It only makes you strive for more noisy filler in the empty air, “... I’m Generic Dead Nurse for the evening or Nurse Graves is cool too. You got a name?”

He sweeps an alabaster hand up and down his body as if to say ‘I am I what I am.’

He’s pretty snappy, you think, feeling a little underdressed in your last minute paint-splattered scrubs and black eyeshadow-dented eyes that are supposed to signify you’re a dead nurse and not a poor college student in training to be a not-dead nurse. Your costume is pretty low effort, but you’d added a red marker slash across your throat that gave it a little extra ‘oomph.’ Still, you feel like you’re six-weeks out of work, standing beside a businessman making six figures. 

“Yes, well, you’re definitely more dapper than I am tonight.”

He taps the cheekbone beneath his bottomless eyes and drags a finger across the bruises around his throat. The gesture makes your lips curl, feeling as though he’s assuring you that the spirit of it is more important than the actual outfit. Or something like that… 

For a man in a mask, he’s quite good at using body language to get his point across. 

“Well, then…” you trail off, “Listen, I’ve been waiting a while, all alone on this sidewalk and my phones about dead. Do you, uh - got any magic tricks up those sleeves?”

The Jester nods with vim and vigor as if being indulged in his greatest pleasure, and knocks the cane into the crook of his elbow before rubbing his hands together. He claps once… twice and three times before he snatches a crisp hundred dollar bill from behind your ear with a lunging jerk.

Being unimpressed is hard. 

“Damn. Impressive, but you do know how dangerous it is waving money in a student's face… that’s just asking for trouble, Mr. Jester.”

A shiver shakes him from shoulders to elbows, to wrists… as though he likes the title a bit too much. If he’s one of those guys that feels more confident under a shroud of anonymity, you can understand and respect that, but you’ve never been the shy type, so you smirk lightly around the ashen makeup and lower your lashes.

“I could be here all night, knowing Max… maybe another one?”

His broad shoulders lift and - as though his body language melts the mask's expression - the grin turns wry. The Jester nods, fluttering his fingers until the crisp hundred vanishes. 

For a moment you stand there as the wind blows your hair around in a thick, blanket of coconut aromas. You wait with a pursed smile.

He looks around, feigning nonchalance before throwing you all his charm and posturing; fingers snapping an inch from your nose. You blink, feeling a sudden, subtle itch against your naked hip.

The plastic, toothy smile looks positively delighted by the wide-eyed look on your face. Both of you know that The Jester knows you know - that the money is now nestled in the snug material across your hip, only an inch or so away from your groin. 

Blushing, swallowing a sudden well of nerves, you look around the empty street, pocket your phone and pull back the tied hem of your scrub pants. You sneak two fingers under the waistband into black underwear and pull out a half-folded hundred-dollar bill.

“Okay,” you breathe, staring at it like it could feed you for two weeks - which it could - and look at him clutching his lapels, “how the hell did you do that?”

The Jester wags his pointer finger at you as though to say ‘tsk-tsk-tsk, there are no questions in magic, silly girl.’ 

“Ah, it’s a secret trick then,” you laugh lightly to dispel your nerves while he leans forward like a sluggish animatronic, “I bet that one works every time. Even I nearly swooned… have to admit.”

Under your breath, you mutter, “... pretty close to the unmentionables though.”

He tips his top hat at the brim; black eye holes gleaming in rapacious amusement. 

If the both of you were at a party, having this very same one-sided verbal exchange with the dirty tricks, you’d think his body posture was… seductive, and perhaps you’d be thinking up ways to invite him someplace more private. But you’re on an empty street close to midnight. The atmosphere is too menacing to arouse you… or is it?

Before you can try to deduce your current state of attraction, the phone in your pocket sings with a text. 

Your focus shifts to the possible text from Max, but The Jester tugs at the colorful dress shirt cuff beneath his jacket sleeves, making that jingle of metal loops sing loud enough to get your attention. Before your very eyes, he snatches a bouquet of red roses from his right sleeve, presenting them under your nose. The cloying cloud of sweet perfume fills your senses. 

“Wow,” you gasp. 

They look real, you marvel; entranced while your phone ‘dings’ again. Little beads of dew are even wiggling inside the inner petals as though they’d been freshly plucked. It’s impressive and suave as fuck. You’re a little mortified by the tingle between your thighs…

He’s got some moves, you note. There’s no doubt about that, and though you’re good at ignoring pickup moves, you’re a little smitten.

Putting on a friendly face to hide the fact that you’re maybe a little wet right now, you stroke a velvet petal, catch a droplet of dew and tell him honestly, “That’s a… wonderful trick, but I don’t have anywhere to put them and I kinda gotta… be somewhere… so...“

You pull your phone out of your pocket, making sure to stretch your smile while the rose bouquet trembles in his hand.

“I’m sorry, but I really-”

Someone doesn’t like being ignored because the second you lift your phone, The Jester snaps his fingers. Suddenly the device you use to communicate with the world has vanished from your hand. The roses are but a lingering scent on the wind, replaced by your phone sitting neatly in the middle of his scuffed, white-cotton palm. 

This is when a sane person would usually get spooked. A wise woman alone at night with a stranger would snatch her phone back, bumble an excuse and run for the hills. 

The Jester grins - a big curvaceous smile with plastic teeth - that seems almost real despite how hard the lighting hits the edges. 

You watch and worry your lower lip in married fear and arousal as he folds his hands together, smooth as oil over water, and just like that, presents empty hands. 

Your phone is gone. 

Vanished. 

Disappeared into the nether or most likely somewhere up his sleeve… either way, you’re not getting it back quickly. 

“That’s…” you swallow a sound of nervousness and rake your teeth across your lower lip, “... really something… but I really, really need that back. I don’t exactly have it insured, and I don’t wanna freak my friend out; also it’s got all of my nephew’s baby pictures on it and-“ 

With an odd twitch of his neck, the Jester bends low enough to expose the light of unnaturally glossy eyes beneath dark sockets. He’s so close. You can smell the shoe shine, musk and something like mothballs on him. 

The Jester, ever-grinning, points to the shop front behind you. 

It’s the silence that makes his fingers so loud - the way he wiggles them at the shop makes you actually blush. Inside the darkened display window, where every surface is fit with whatever they can legally show to the public, your phone lights up; nestled within a green feather boa. 

“Holy shit. How did you…” words fail you. 

The Jester renders you speechless. What voice you did have grows stale as he taps the glass window, turns his grinning mask towards you in a way that makes all the mottled tendons in his neck bulge, and crooks his left hand for you to come closer. Like an obedient pet - or a massive idiot - you take a step closer, and then another, and another… further, until he wraps a long, arm around your shoulders and throws a great cloak over you both.

The street vanishes. 

Lights swirl and pop like the Big Bang. Suddenly the reek of orange cleaner, lube, and silicone bleeds with the weird tang of something like burnt plastic.

Did you just-

“What. The. Fuck,” you gape, turning and twirling around in the middle of the dark sex shop you’d previously be outside of, “... what the fuck - what the everloving fuck just happened?!”

The front door to your left is locked; undisturbed. Little cuts of light leak into the open area beside the register, but it doesn’t give you more than a foot of distance to see with before you’re blind. There is, of course, a row of shelves beside you that provide the ridiculous backdrop of flesh-toned dildos as you stand there, having an existential crisis.

You’re nearly about to scream for help when metal rattles and The Jester appears - palms outstretched over the glass display counter - grinning at you with the mask turned to the side as though wondering what you think of his little parlor trick. You hate it, but that’s not what you say because while yes, you dislike it, it’s so awe-inspiring that you can’t bear to insult him.

He points to the ceiling and the bank of lights above your head alight with erubescent red. The novelty sex shop now looks like someone's poorly designed sex dungeon; everything bathed in crimson. Behind his obscure eyelets, there’s the glimmer of ruby-colored jewels.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you breathe, rubbing a palm where your heart is jackhammering. With a gulp and furious blinking, you rest a hand on the edge of the counter, catching your breath. “How did you do this?! Are you like - fuck - the greatest illusionist alive or is this a prank? Did my brother put you up to this?”

For the first time, you look at The Jester as if maybe you’ve seen him before… in passing, without the mask, but he’s taller than most people you’ve seen, let alone spoken to.

No, if Shawn decided to get you back for last Halloween, then he’s brought in a friend you’ve never met - a friend that also does killer magic tricks and knows how to use his hands. You can’t figure out how he’s done this trick. The money and roses… well, you can’t wrap your head around those either, but they were much less out of this world than this.

The Jester throws his cane up in his hand, snatching it mid-width before laying it over the glass with a little click; sleeves jingling with unseen implements of mayhem. 

He taps all eight fingers, excluding the thumbs, across the counter like a synchronized drum beat. The sound makes all the fine hairs along your body stand on end… and yeah, it makes your breathing come faster for other reasons than just jitters.

There’s a reason he’d transported you both inside a fucking sex shop…

Phantom itching begins where he’d materialized the folded hundred, but you can't bring yourself to rub it as he studies you with dim ferocity. His fun, belligerent energy from before takes on the character of a wolf in sheep's clothing. While you’re the sentient sheep in this scenario, you don’t grab a rubber dildo off the display rack and smash out the window just yet.

Instead of speaking, he taps his gloved fingers in a wave, back and forth. The sinister mask hovers between his shoulders as he stares at your hip while it slowly begins to sting. Suddenly, pain snaps like a rubber band pop. You stumble back, feeling your underwear beneath the blood-splattered scrubs sag down on one side.

“Shit, how did you-”

The other side snaps and the fabric falls, bunching underneath starched cotton while you blush hotly. The displacement of your underwear means nothing is soaking up the wetness between your thighs, so the leftover tingle from the snapped underwear - the feeling that’s making your lower muscles ache - leaves your inner thighs slippery.

He knows it. You know it. There’s no pretending otherwise.

So, you can either make a run for it without your phone, scream like a banshee on Halloween night - where everyone will assume you’re someone reveling in the festivities - or accept that this is incredibly unorthodox but… you don't hate it. Where ever this magic trick of his is going, you’re into it; feeling around the top of your thighs for the wrinkle of ruined panties and tugging it out the cinched waistband of your costumed scrubs.

“... so,” you whisper, staring at your ruined black panties as he raps the glass - lights flickering softly behind him like his very presence disturbs the natural flow of electrons, “... you give me tricks, and I give you treats? Is that what’s happening or are you really one of Shawn’s friends, not some manifestation of all my deepest, darkest fantasies?”

His middle finger freezes in the midst of the waving taps - too perfectly poised to be the work of a regular man. 

Everything about him is too fluid and magical to be mortal. It’s as if he’s an illusion himself. Maybe he is. 

The Jester lifts his hand, gives you a languorous ‘come hither’ motion and once again, you shuffle towards him until your stomach hits the counter; panties dropped to the floor. 

He ‘boops’ you on the nose - an innocent gesture really - and just like that, your knees buckle. Your chin narrowly misses the sharp glass edge on your way down to your knees, palms squeaking against the glass and insides vibrating with the intensity of a jackhammer breaking apart solid foundation. 

It’s overwhelming. 

Your brain has no time to manifest a reason behind the sudden girth stuffed within your previously empty cunt. Wet muscles stretch and clench; shivering and leaking.

You sob, hitch on a moan and look up - lower lip trembling - as The Jester peers over the counter, staring down at you with a light jingle of metal; silent pleasure wafting off him.

A treat, you think, suffering his latest trick in blind ecstasy as your body trembles around the thick intrusion of a vibrator turned up to deadly levels. Every breath you try to inhale is laced in a shocked, gratified moan and with every rock of your pelvis, you slide further down the glass display as a massive, impossible orgasm wracks your body.

You curl into yourself, wince and stretch out along the tile as the peak hits its zenith. Your spine pops as you twitch, bracing yourself for the powerhouse of overstimulation that’s to come but the vibrations lessen in tandem with tickled nerves, never overstaying their welcome.

“... fuck,” you shiver; fingers clenching inside sweaty palms. 

Seeing The Jester crouched beside you, watching you with his cane draped over his knees, should not surprise you as much as it does. Your mind is foggy. For a moment you’d forgotten about him for the object inside you… or had it been there at all?

“Wha…” you mouth dumbly, staring up at him with wide, questioning eyes as the weight and girth of the vibrator you swore was rattling you into bliss seconds ago, vanishes. Gone. As if it had never been there in the first place. The endorphins are swimming everywhere, but your orgasm-fresh muscles contract around nothing. 

Your cunt still feels pre-stretched; tight and needy.

A little pool of drool stares up at you from the floor. You babble nonsense while wiping the trail off the edge of your mouth, moving to a shaky elbow as The Jester lowers his masked face into a wide grin. The cane falls into the divot of his inner elbows and there, while you shiver and pant, he claps like a ten-thousand strong audience… but it’s not an applause that says the nights over. 

“... an encore?” you moan softly in question, watching the way his hollow eyes shine like black silk. Slowly, he nods in the affirmative, fisting the cane before nudging the curve of your waist. 

You puff a groan and roll on your back. 

The Jester brushes the ‘U’ of his cane along your stomach. He pauses, crab walks closer, stretches a scuffed leather shoe over your hips and hovers; the cane stroking your sternum. 

Body heat floods over you.

For a moment he seems thoughtful as if wondering to himself what to do next. Which trick would he try on you? What treat does he want in return? How much is left in you after whatever he just did with the ghost vibrator? Questions flood your brain as he gently taps the space between your breasts before tipping the mask to the side, looking even more unreal with the angle of his shoulders accentuating the hard slope of the mask.

You lay there as the cane rests over your chest, blinking away a veil of unshed tears and smile at the menacing, grinning set of teeth and empty eyes. 

The cane swirls around your sternum as if he means to say ‘you’re welcome’ or… ‘there now, enjoy, enjoy…’

A moment of quiet contentment washes over you. It continues on until your heart begins calming, no longer racing, and your eyelids grow heavy, but just as your lashes flutter, The Jester pounces. 

You blink only to find the glass countertop casting your dead-eyed gaze back up at you. 

He’s teleported you over the counter this time. 

“Which trick,” you ask, a bit out of breath, “... is this one going to be?”

There’s a mirror in front of you, running along the edge of the back register, just beyond the counter. It’s low, but you can see yourself clearly amidst the red haze, looking sordid and fucked. The Jester is there too… but he’s sans jacket, standing behind you with a short stubby blade poised before his belt. The black vest parts above the buckle, exposing the deep red undershirt beneath. It’s hard to tell the color of everything with the hellish lighting - everything except him. His colors are oddly vivid despite the red glow.

The blade dances with red light as he twirls it behind you; edge reflected in the mirror.

Fear sends a confusing bolt of arousal back down your core.

“... yes.”

He sways behind you, growing larger in the mirror until you feel his hips pin yours to the counter. A white-gloved hand pets down your wild hair, coiling a piece around his pointer finger carefully like a lover before unfurling the digit to grapple your chin in his palm.

“... hah,” you gasp, startled as he snatches up your jawline, bending you towards him until you can’t see anything but your torso in the mirror. 

He brings the blade before you, skimming the edge up and down in sweeping gestures as if sharpening the knife on your scrubs. Metal sings with each motion. The chimes nearly lull you into a state of soothed frenzy, but just as you grow lethargic in his grasp, he throws his fist in front of your face - showcasing the pear-shaped blade - before hooking it in your collar and sawing through the cheap, scrub material. The front clasp of your bra gets wedged over the razor's edge with a jerk of his wrist and down he cuts and slashes until your breasts are bouncing freely; dark nipples erect in the mirror.

The Jester whistles.

The flat edge of the blade glides up your quivering stomach, past the arched swell of your ribs and then dents a full breast. 

“Is this…” you swallow a well of saliva and feel sweat gather between your palms and the glass, “... another treat? The last one,” you sigh and smile, feeling so alive, “was… so good.”

The Jester breathes against your back, but there’s no sound - no rattling breath to be heard. He slips the blade down your side, barely grazing skin, and cuts your waistband loose, chopping the side seam down to mid-thigh. You shift, working your backside into his groin until the scrubs wedge down plump curves of fat and further past your knees to the floor.

Is he going to summon nipple clamps? - a vibrating bullet? - an anal plug?

You don’t know but aren’t prepared for anything, especially the sudden tug and jingle of a chain, belt buckle, and knife. A hot, very alive and corporeal cock bounces over your ass;throbbing. 

He sets the knife down on the counter - calculated and unhurried - and takes one heaving breast in his hand.

You think, for sure, he’s going to pull back just enough to find your slickness and drive within, but he hugs your ribs instead and turns you around in place. 

Not ungentle, he helps lift you on the edge of the counter. You spread your thighs of your own accord as he tips the mask down, burning blackness where your soaked and bare and waiting, nods and grabs your hips until they ache and you’re gasping as his cock channels through tight, lubricated muscles. The Jester pauses halfway, plucking up your hands in his own. He positions you both as though you're in a ballroom dance, swaying and stepping to classical music and not about to fuck on a sex shop counter.

Outside the storefront, headlights pull up and pause. You blink, lost for a moment - about to call out to the familiar glow of Max’s busted headlight - but clutch The Jester’s shoulder instead and moan as he steps closer, feeding the rest of a long, curved cock inside you. He’s as thick as the vibrator that was or wasn’t there earlier… longer though and hot and throbbing. 

Your outstretched arm shivers before he slings it around his shoulder with the other and snags you by the waist, fucking you with full, well-angled thrusts that set all your nerves aflame. The masked face is tilted, angled to the side but staring into your damp orbs, watching from pitted black as your cunt clenches and sucks with each firm rock of cock. It’s still like dancing… just better and rougher. 

He doesn’t make a sound. The only noise is your own moans, the slap of a firmly fucked cunt and ramming cock with the chime of hidden steel links. 

You clutch the shoulders of his vest, squeeze as your inside flutter, and a hard sort of pleasure begins to tighten in your spine. The Jester watches, cradling you under the ribs, holding you in place, while beating his cock inside until your breasts start to throb; jiggling and bouncing. 

“Jesus fuck…” you gasp, staring at his endless eye, “... fuck me.” 

The mask grins deeper, higher… more violent than you remember. The Jester slams your lower bodies together - metal on metal singing inside his clothes - and levels you with a passionate glare before jerking your ass nearly off the counter so he can throw his cock upwards, hitting that deeply rooted spot like hammering in a fucking nail. 

Outside, you can hear Max yelling your name. Behind the wall of latex condoms, blocking off the display window, you can hear your phone ringing but… fuck that, you think. 

With a perverse, grandiose sound of pleasure, you thread your fingers through the short trimmed hair on the nape of his neck, part your lips and brush your lips against the hard plastic teeth in a mock kiss while he fucks your sanity dry. The Jester, for all his silence and cool candor, feels it when you cum - hears you pant and moan and lick his teeth - and releases a hiss of breath. 

His stomach curls and the vest buttons wrinkle the fine black material. Inside your skin, his gloved fingers bruise and twitch. 

Warming, fulfilling jets of cum paints the inside of your cunt until The Jester is gliding sloppy and effortless inside you; groaning beneath the mask. It’s exciting, more so than anything tonight. Hearing him - warm, high strung gravel - makes you tremble and kiss his plastic grin again; sucking kisses that just prolongs the orgasmic high as he softens inside you.

Eventually, the heat of the moment quiets. 

Maxine has found your phone in the display window by now and is currently banging on the door, screaming your name at the top of her lungs. 

The Jester looks to the door with a slow crawling gaze then back down at you; still filled with him. The proof of his existence slowly dribbles down the glass under your ass. There’s too much excess already even with his cock plugging most of it inside. 

With the back of his cotton hand, he pets your chin and brow, dabbing away sweat and coming away coated in your ruined makeup. 

“If you’re the spirit of Halloween… or the world’s greatest magician,” you lean into his touch and half-chuckle, “well, either way… I think you’re the absolute tops, Mr. Jester. Unfortunately, that crazy lady outside is my ride.”

He nods, stroking a thumb down your lower lip and chin before leaning against your ear. The Jester whispers something profound - something dangerous and life-changing but a quick snap of his fingers sends you back out on the sidewalk… fully dressed with you phone clutched in your palm and the memories of his words fading as fast as a hazy dream. 

You turn, pad in place as Max rushes towards you, calling your name with frustrated fear. 

The Jester is gone.

The only proof of his existence is a slickness between your thighs and a crisp hundred dollar bill in the pocket over your left breast. 

“Dude,” you gasp, grinning as Maxine grabs your shoulders and drags you before her frazzled rose-painted cheeks, “... you won’t believe what just happened to me.”

“What happened to-“ she glares, looking ridiculous in her bunny ears and fake whiskers, “What happened to you?! What about me? I’ve been looking up and down this fucking street for half an hour and… wait… who the hell is that?”

You twist your neck until it pops with released tension to see The Jester standing on the other side of the road, cane in hand and that menacingly, beautiful mask trained on you. 

He waves a white glove, tips his cane in goodbye and walks off.

“That,” you grin, “is my future husband.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all those that read, and to the Anon that sent in the ask. If you have the time, please leave me a comment letting me know what worked or what didn't. Also! Please make to check the related works link for my friend Darth Fucamus' fic because it's bangin' - they also helped look this over for any major error, so big thanks to them for that as well. <3
> 
> Check out The Jester's horror short at the link below!  
> CH. 1 - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HLHjyGNmm5U  
> CH.2 - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WzXVFw17FxU
> 
>  
> 
> [DISCORD](https://discord.gg/BS4uvMK)   
>  [CURIOUS Cat (for asks)](https://curiouscat.me/brimbrimbrimbrim)   
>  [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/LydiaBrim)   
>  [INSTAGRAM](https://www.instagram.com/brim_brim_brim_brim/)


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